Time to Go Home
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: Please read this AFTER "Guilt Trip" - posted in the wrong order! Epilogue for The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg. Smarm.


Disclaimer: I do not own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally written in the around 2006, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

 **Time to Go Home**

[Epilogue for _The Sentnel by Blair Sandburg]_ ]

Detective Jim Ellison, favoring his game leg, perched cautiously on the edge of a desk in the Major Crimes bullpen, and surveyed the large room. Things were beginning to settle down now, after the pandemonium of the past hour. Simon had departed with Joel Taggart pushing his wheelchair; despite all his bravado the division captain had started to look pinched around the eyes and mouth, and his detectives were quick to suggest he take himself and his gunshot wound home to rest. Megan Connor had left as well, scowling and citing doctor's orders.

Naomi Sandburg had kissed her son lightly, pecked Jim's cheek, and taken her leave. She'd been smiling, but there was a stunned look in her eyes along with the pleasure, and she had had little to say before she left. Jim suspected she was at the loft right this moment, frantically packing her suitcase and preparing to 'detach with love.' Well, good riddance. She'd caused more than a peck of trouble in her short stay in Cascade!

Rafe, Rhonda and Henri Brown had returned to their various tasks, as had the uniformed officers connected with Major Crimes, and the bullpen had taken on its usual weekday-afternoon appearance of quietly efficient bustle.

That left himself...and Blair.

Sandburg was sitting silently in Jim's desk chair. Clasped gently in his hands was a black leather case containing a shiny gold badge, and he was staring down at it wonderingly. Occasionally he stroked it gently with one finger, tracing the lines and various indentations and protrusions.

Scanning him with senses wide open the Sentinel detected slightly hitching breaths and an occasional tiny sniff; Sandburg was swallowing with unusual frequency and the slightest hint of warm saline clung to him – but he didn't seem unduly upset at the moment. He simply appeared to be slowly regaining his equilibrium, after the mood swings caused by the emotional rollercoaster he'd been on. If he was aware of Jim's scrutiny, he gave no sign.

Leaning more heavily on his cane now as his leg tired, Jim rose from his perch on the desk and moved slowly over to stand next to his friend. Blair didn't look up from his meticulous examination of the badge.

Ellison cleared his throat. "You okay?"

"...yeah..." It was a mere whisper, and it was followed by another gulp. "Just...you know. Processing."

Jim had to smile a little at that, but it faded quickly as Sandburg didn't continue speaking and didn't raise his eyes. "You sure?" Guilt washed over the detective in a suffocating wave; he had a feeling he was never going to escape the memory of Blair's face and voice as he renounced his doctoral dissertation – and the knowledge that he had sacrificed it for Jim's sake. No matter what they'd managed to give him in exchange. _"It was your life." "Yeah, it was."_

"I'm sure." Now Blair looked up, and Jim searched his face painstakingly, using every advantage his heightened senses could give him. _Tired_...that was the first and strongest impression. Sandburg was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. _But...happy? He's happy!_ Bewildered and shocked, understandably – but there was a quiet joy lurking in the dazed azure eyes, as well. "I just can't quite make myself believe it." He looked down at his lap again, once more tracing the edge of the gold badge.

"It's the PD, not a PhD," Ellison said with quiet irony. "It's not a Nobel prize and three million dollars..."

Blair emitted a tiny huff of laughter. "True...but with a PhD I would have had to stop riding with you, and be stuck in the political snarls of academia for the rest of my life...Never come here again." He took a deep breath and looked around the bullpen. "Never come here again," he repeated in a whisper, and shook his head slightly. "Couldn't have done that, man..."

Abruptly, he seemed to pull himself into the present, and returned his gaze to Jim. "You shouldn't be standing around on that leg," he chided. "You need to go home and rest, Jim."

"In a few." Jim expected Sandburg to get up and start hustling him from the room immediately, but to his concerned surprise, Blair just sat there, once again staring down at his hands. The urge to comfort his Guide was irresistible. Hesitantly, the detective reached out and ran gentle fingers over Blair's bent head, smoothing the soft ripples of curly hair. "It's okay, Chief... I'm fine. Are you?"

With a soft sigh, Blair let himself relax into the gesture, and closing his eyes, leaned his head against Jim's thigh. "I'm...really tired," he admitted, so low that Jim had to stretch his hearing to catch the words.

"I'll bet." Jim kept on stroking. He could feel the tension begin to drain away from his friend's body as he tucked errant curls behind Sandburg's ear. Jesus, how had Blair managed to survive the last few days? _Without any support or help from his_ _supposedly_ _best friend and partner, that's how,_ an accusing little voice chanted in the back of his head. _You can say all you want about how badly you were treated with the release of the dissertation and the publicity, Ellison, but you had it easy, compared to him!_ "You don't really have to cut your hair, you know," he said aloud, trying to hush the cruel little voice. "If all you take is physical defense and firearms, you can get away with leaving it long."

Blair chuckled quietly. "I figured," he murmured. Then: "You need to get home," he repeated, straightening up and opening his eyes. "Get off your leg and rest."

"WE need to get home," Ellison corrected. Suddenly he realized that was what he wanted to do more than anything: go home to the loft with Sandburg. Lock the doors, draw the shades, turn off the telephones, and just hibernate there until they were both – _BOTH_ – ready to face the world again. No matter how long it took. There wasn't any rush. Zeller was dead, the pressure was off. He was on medical leave, and Blair...well, Blair didn't have anywhere he had to be, just now. They could relax and recoup. God, he hoped Naomi had cleared out! He knew he couldn't deal with her any more. Perhaps in the future – the distant future – but not now. "C'mon." He tugged gently on Sandburg's arm.

"You mean it? You still...want me there?" Sandburg was searching his face as intently as Jim had searched Blair's a few minutes before.

"It's your home, doofus." How to convince him? Despite his discomfort with expressing his deepest emotions and feelings, Jim made a desperate effort to do just that; Sandburg deserved nothing less from him. "Yes, I want you there, okay? It's where you belong. It's where you're supposed to be. It's what I want. That clear enough?"

"Yeah." The sudden smile and the warmth in Blair's eyes made the effort worth it. He got to his feet and slid the little black badge case into his jeans pocket as if he'd been doing it for years. He glanced around the bullpen, evidently seeking something or someone. "Did Mom leave?"

"Uh-huh." Jim hoped his involuntary grimace would be attributed to putting weight on his injured leg, but Sandburg was pretty sharp. "But I'm thinking maybe we could stake her to a hotel room for a couple of nights – if you're okay with that."

Sandburg smiled and briefly closed his eyes. "Yeah – I think that might be a really good idea." The next comment made it evident just how well he knew his butterfly of a mother: "If she hasn't already left, that is."

"If she has, you gonna be okay with it?" Jim couldn't believe he was standing in the Major Crimes bullpen having this very quiet, but oh-so-important and definitive conversation with his partner and Guide. Things he'd never consider mentioning were somehow spilling out of his mouth without his consent or encouragement.

"Yup." Sandburg's tone was dismissive, if fondly rueful...and then his smile broadened to one of weary contentment. He picked up his jacket and slipped it on, then offered the support of his arm to his Sentinel. "C'mon, Jim. Hang onto me if you need to – and let's go home."

 _Hang onto me if you need to..._ That's what it was all about, Ellison realized, as he gratefully accepted his friend's assistance. Sandburg was always there – and apparently would continue to be there – for him to lean on if necessary...and Jim vowed silently that he would do everything in his power to always be there for Sandburg in return. He tightened his grip about Blair's shoulders.

"Sounds like a plan – partner."

The End


End file.
